39.
Philomel walked back the way she had come, the weight of the visit lingering heavily in her mind.
‘Can I really trust Katherine’s words?’
Even though she was her biological mother, she couldn’t fully trust her. After all, this was the woman who had played the villainess, kidnapping a friend’s child.
‘What if this is just a ploy to mitigate her crimes, a desperate attempt to save herself?’
Yet, she couldn’t fathom what Katherine stood to gain from such a lie.
In the book, Katherine had accepted her death with chilling composure once Ellensia was restored to her rightful place. There were descriptions hinting that her true nature wasn’t inherently evil, but rather warped by a madness born of jealousy. Perhaps Philomel’s interference had diverted the path of the original story, creating ripples that changed everything.
‘Or perhaps… there is some truth to what she said.’
As that thought took root, a hollow sensation bloomed in Philomel’s chest.
‘What is this thing called blood relation, anyway?’
She patted her cheeks, forcing herself to focus.
“Pull yourself together. Don’t get swayed by trivial words and start digging where you shouldn’t.”
When she set aside the narrative of the book and looked at the situation with cold, objective logic, the conclusion seemed stark. Katherine, who had snatched a daughter the moment her friend died, versus the gentle Ellensia, who had spent a lifetime mistreated by her captor.
It made no sense to trust Katherine.
There was no need to pity her. Though she was her birth mother, the time they had spent together was brief; they were little more than strangers. And on the other hand, everyone knew that Ellensia was kind…
‘Hm?’
An intense, jarring sense of dissonance welled up.
“…Why do I naturally assume Ellensia is kind?”
If Katherine was a stranger to Philomel, then Ellensia was a stranger as well. They had spoken only a handful of times. Yet, Philomel had accepted her kindness as an absolute truth.
The answer was painfully simple.
Because the book said so.
Because it had been written in the pages of , the guideline and beacon that had anchored Philomel’s life since she was nine years old.
As this realization struck her, Philomel faced a fundamental, terrifying question.
‘Can I completely trust ?’
It was a question she had subconsciously fought to keep buried.
There had been countless suspicious details all along: the way the book masqueraded as a novel rather than a traditional prophecy, and how it had simply appeared in the garden, waiting to be found. When she had first stumbled upon it, she was too crushed by its revelations to think clearly. As she grew older, her doubts had only deepened, yet she had suppressed them, lacking the means to resolve them.
After all, this was an object that wouldn’t even burn when she tried to destroy it with fire. Nothing about it was normal.
Her breath hitched. It felt as if the very ground beneath her feet was dissolving into mist.
Philomel retreated to her quarters, her steps hurried, as if she were being hunted by a phantom.
“Meow.”
The room was quiet; Countess Deles and the maids were absent, leaving only the cat to greet her.
She wanted to read the book, to scour the pages for clues, but it had been left at the inn when she departed Angelium. She had read it so many times that the text was etched into her memory, but that only fed her gnawing anxiety. What if she had overlooked a crucial hint? What if there were lines she had failed to interpret correctly?
Until now, the book had been her compass, providing a sense of certainty in a solitary life. Without it, she felt cast into a storm, her mind a fragile sailboat on a violent sea.
Philomel bit her lip, her decision made.
“I have to go get it.”
She turned back to the door. It had only been two days; the innkeepers would likely still have her abandoned belongings. She would have to ask Eustis to send her to Angelium.
‘I’ll be placed under surveillance, but if I agree to stay for three months, he’ll let me go.’
Whether the “truth” she had relied on for half her life was a lie—that was the only thing that mattered now. And if… if was not a real book of prophecy…
‘Then what am I?’
A wave of vertigo washed over her, and her knees buckled. Just as she braced for the impact of a fall,
“Whoops. Are you all right?”
Arms caught her waist, steadying her. At the same moment, a blinding, golden light flickered in her vision.
Philomel whispered the name in disbelief.
“…Le, guin?”
The man replied with maddening nonchalance.
“Yes. My name is indeed Leguin.”
“H, how are you here?”
Startled, Philomel shoved herself out of his arms and stumbled backward.
“It’s impossible to use movement magic in the Imperial Palace…”
The magic suppression barrier—a permanent blessing bestowed by the Sun God upon the First Emperor—rendered unauthorized magic useless here. Yet, here stood the Tower Master, who should have been at the Magic Tower.
“Who do you think I am? There is no magic in this world that I cannot break.” Leguin offered a cocky, arrogant smile. “And we’ve been together since last night, haven’t we?”
He spoke with an intimacy that made her skin crawl.
“When were we? Stop saying such bizarre things.”
“You’re so cold. I was sitting right there, waiting patiently just as you told me to before you left, even though it was dreadfully boring.”
He pointed toward a purple cushion in the corner—the one she had provided for the cat earlier that morning, thinking the floor looked hard.
‘Wait, the silver one?’
She looked at the man. His hair was silver. The cat’s eyes had been that same striking, golden hue.
“…Don’t tell me you were that cat?” Philomel stammered.
“That’s right,” Leguin replied with a light nod.
“Liar!”
“It’s not a lie. Would you like a demonstration?”
When she glared at him, he scoffed, and with a soft *pop*, the familiar, small creature appeared on the rug.
“Meow.”
The cat looked at her proudly, as if confirming its own cuteness.
*Pop!*
The man materialized once more.
“See? I intended to reveal myself when you were alone, but that woman, the Countess or whatever she is, kept hovering, making it difficult to wait.”
“…”
“Besides, you were sleeping so soundly, I couldn’t bear to wake you. I did try to find an opening when you were in the center of the Imperial Palace, but the divine power there is far too stifling. I didn’t want to get near it.”
“…Leave.”
“What was that?”
“I said leave right now!”
He nimbly dodged the cushion she hurled at his head. Philomel trembled with a mix of fury and embarrassment. She had been played. She had genuinely liked that cat.
‘I was even thinking of keeping him if his owner didn’t show up!’
She had even been secretly debating what name to give him. It took thirty minutes of frantic pacing for Philomel to quell her rage.
***
A short time later, Philomel postponed the eviction. She realized she needed to speak with the man who had sought her out.
“Why are you sitting so far away?”
Philomel turned her head, pointedly ignoring him.
“I’m sorry, but please stay over there.”
“…What did I even do to offend you?”
“It’s just how I feel.”
They sat at opposite ends of a long sofa, locked in a painful, strained silence.
“Don’t you like cats? They’re quite cute.”
“I like cats. When they are, in fact, cats.”
“Isn’t being cute an external quality? If the appearance is pleasing, surely that is enough. Your standards are exceptionally difficult.”
By Philomel’s logic, his standards were the ones that defied reason. A grown man acting like a cat, meowing and rubbing against her legs?
‘What a shameless man!’
He wasn’t just any man; he was the Tower Master. Where was his dignity? It was Philomel’s firm belief that a leader of such a prestigious institution should carry himself with gravity.
Leguin, currently sprawled out with his feet resting on the table, grumbled.
“That Lexion fellow told me you’d like it if I transformed… I’ll have to deal with him later.”
Now that she observed him closely, he didn’t seem particularly sound of mind. Yet, a wave of relief washed over her. She hadn’t kissed the cat. She hadn’t rubbed her face against its fur.
‘Actually, I was planning to do exactly that after I gave him a bath.’
If he had revealed his identity even a moment later, Philomel might have lost her will to live entirely.